


so the joke goes like this

by AwayLaughing



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, MC is Name Dropped but not Used at All, Mystery, Sneaking Around, Yuletide 2018, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:32:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: ...a pirate, a prince and a giant walk into a stable.And the punchline is either the fact they all walk out together - or the fact nothing ends up on fire. Hamin suspects his butler would find the second one funny but only because he'd never believe it.(But really, nothing catches fire)(Andhe's not the one who steals something)





	so the joke goes like this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lea_hazel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/gifts).



> A treat for Lea_Hazel

Hamin cut across the dewy grass of the castle’s pointlessly empty stretches of lawn, making sure to keep close to the wall so he wasn’t quite as obvious as he otherwise would have been, even in the dark. The stables were black in the night, a good sign. Still he was careful easing open the door, mindful of the squeaky hinge in the upper left and sticking to the right. Inside it smelled of horses and hay. He stayed at the door a long moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the more complete darkness than the moon offered. Once they did and he saw no movement he finished entering, making sure to be as quiet closing it as he had been opening it.

 

“Hamin?”

 

Startled was not even the word for how he felt hearing his name. Whirling around he came face to face – well alright face to chest-neckal region – with Lyon of Jiyel. At least he was soundless, reaching for a sword he didn’t have rather than making an actual noise. Lyon just stared down at him, expression invisible in the dark.

 

“You may want to be a touch quieter, your grace,” a more familiar voice said, floating up from behind the towering duke.

 

“Z- Prince Zarad?” he said, barely remembering the manners his butler kept yammering on about. “Is this a tryst? I’d hate to interrupt one of those though maybe get to it in the loft. Less equine audience. Cats though, so it’s a bit of a trade off.”

 

“Alas, we are not trysting,” Zarad said, appearing as a shape behind the frankly more surprising delegate. Zarad seemed like the sort who would skulk around dark stables. It seemed a very Corvali past time. Lyon – not so much. Hamin was under the impression he only went anywhere bookless under extreme pressure. And possible threats of harm to the library, if his butler was anything like Hamin’s own. "His grace will not have me no matter how I weep."

 

Very honestly, he sort of liked his butler, Theobald. Kind of like how cats liked other cats; as things you could whack in the face and push out of the sun spots into the water. Except he’d been good and hadn’t whacked or pushed anyone.

 

“I do not tryst,” Lyon said. “And there is no need to be quiet, the stablehands are engaged in an illegal poker game. There is alcohol.”

 

“Well if there isn’t, there’s hardly a point, now is there?” Zarad said.

 

“Not hardly,” Hamin agreed.

 

“Poker is a form of interactions like any form of gambling which relies on subverting societal norms, and creating a false sense of fairness,” he said. “I don’t see how alcohol is pivotal to this.”

 

“Because it’s fun, your grace,” Zarad said. “Are you here to see a man about a horse?”

 

“I was more here to see a horse directly,” Hamin admitted. “Is that why you’re here though?”

 

“Not at all,” Zarad said. “And you can’t.”

 

“Can’t see a horse?” Hamin asked, peering around. “It _is_ dark but-”

 

“He means Lady Pippa’s horse is gone,” Lyon said. “He is unwilling to drop the equivocating.”

 

“I am,” Zarad said. “But his grace is correct, the horse involved in our joint scare this afternoon is gone.” He moved, away from Lyon’s shoulder. Hamin didn’t need any words – he followed Zarad. They moved silently. Lyon, behind them...well not so much.

 

You’d think a library haunter would be quieter. Maybe librarians didn’t mind shuffling. Seemed unlikely, but then again librarians seemed to assume he was always up to something so maybe that was a him thing. He read things. Or could, anyway.

 

He was lead to exactly what they sort of indicated they were leading him to, which was an empty stall. Inside was a hooded lantern. “Very clever,” he said. “Which one of you brought that?”

 

“I did,” Lyon said.

 

“I was going to use one of the lanterns here,” Zarad said.

 

“So I guess you didn’t come together,” Hamin said.

 

“Of course not,” Lyon said. Which was fair enough. Lyon and Zarad were about as mismatched as they came. Except maybe fore Lyon and the co-subject of tonight’s escapade.

 

“What are you doing here, exactly?” Hamin asked.

 

“What are you doing here?” Zarad asked.

 

“Well I was sent away not so subtly before, so I thought I’d try and fill in the blanks,” Hamin said. The stall didn’t give much away – though the horse was clearly here when the stable hands put everything to bed, as there was a pat in the back.

 

“Ah,” Zarad said, “who knew you’d be a match for my sneakiness.”

 

“I wished to settle a debate,” Lyon said. “My dinner partner,” a phrase he said in the same way people described their tyrannical great aunts, “was of the opinion Lady Pippa was just a very poor rider. I was not.”

 

“Oh she is a fairly terrible rider,” Zarad said, scuffing the hay, which had already been pushed back so someone could look at the floor. “Even I knew that and in general the ladies of the Inner Court tried to keep me well clear of their darlings. That said, it wasn’t her skills that was the problem this time. Twitchy horse- didn’t you hear that bang?”

 

Hamin grinned, “well if Glitter is any indication, her mother must be quite the force of nature.” And Zarad was, as they said, full of shit.

 

“I didn’t hear a bang,” Lyon said apparently not concerned with the flow of conversation.

 

“Shocking,” Zarad said. “And lady Roshan makes Lady Pippa look like a positive kitten. Delightful woman though. It’s her handmaid you need to watch out for. I think even her nail polish is poisoned.”

 

Not for the first time Hamin thought Corval sounded more like a place out of a story book than where real people came from. Then, Zarad seemed more like a character from a play than an actual human person. At least he did until he helped you save the girl, and skulk about stables in the dark.

 

Which maybe just made them all sound like they were out of a pulpy novel. Ha.

 

“Poison in a varnish would be either a liability to the wearer or useless,” Lyon said.

 

“Hyperbole, your grace.”

 

“You know that is not the correct form of address,” Lyon said, an annoyed note coming to life in his voice. Honestly, it was astonishing it had taken this long.

 

“I thought you said you didn’t care,” Zarad said, clearly enjoying himself. Hamin understood – Lyon was like the butlers in his own way. Though also probably not something the butlers would like to hear, given how he often seemed to have dressed himself in the dark. Hamin wondered briefly if he’d ever made any of his personnel cry. Hamin hadn’t managed yet, but whether that was because these people were made of tougher stuff than he thought, or simply because he wasn’t actually _trying_ remained to be seen.

 

There were five weeks left to break them. Or not. Again, not trying. He wasn’t _evil_.

 

“I do not care about the pointless trappings of nobility,” he said. It was the sort of thing, Hamin was learning, only the very rich and very noble could afford to say. The more they cared the lower on the nobility totem pole.

 

...which explained Zarad.

 

Hamin was brilliant, clearly.

 

“So what does it matter?” If Zarad had a stick, Hamin guessed it would be poked into Lyon’s ribs. Repeatedly.

 

Which made him very much wish there was a stick, and also better lighting. And maybe a hand pie, so he had something to eat while watching.

 

“Because incorrect usage is not the same as not using it,” Lyon said. “It is-”

 

Above them, there was a creak and a flash of light. “Quiet time now,” Hamin said, putting a hand out to shush Lyon. “Poker game is over.”

 

“They might check the stalls,” Zarad said, and jerked his head over to where the saddles were kept. A small back door could just barely be seen from here. “It’s latched from the inside,” he said.

 

They wasted no time reaching it. Hamin took the front, lifting the latch quietly – and almost pausing when he did so. Careful not to let on anything was amiss he ran his fingers along it. The pin was loose. Not enough to have it fall off, but enough someone could fit a few fingers in and push the simple lock up and away from outside. Opening the door he gestured for Lyon – who was as subtle as warship – to go. Zarad followed and he took the chance to run a finger over the hinges. The stable hands clattered down the stairs, chatting softly. One of the figures almost caught his attention - the voice was naggingly familiar - but the hinge won in the end.

 

It was greased.

 

At least he could guess how whoever took the horse got in. Quietly closing the door behind him, Hamin stepped back. Big enough for a horse, if it trusted its handler or was particularly docile.

 

“Looks like we found our horse’s escape route,” Zarad said once the door was closed behind them. He'd opened the hood of the lantern, and had it pointed down – showing hoof prints where there shouldn’t be any. With that and the moon it was much easier to see. “Anyone wish for a midnight romp?"

 

“No,” Lyon said.

 

“I love a good romp,” Hamin said, grinning up at the tall Corvali.

 

Zarad grinned back, eyes dancing. “I bet you do,” he said. “Well, goodnight your-”

 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t coming,” Lyon said. “Just that I had no wish to walk through the grounds. And it’s not midnight.”

 

Hamin couldn’t help it – he snorted.

 

“And besides,” he said, “if I do not come I will never learn what this is leading to.”

 

“Oh I’m a terrible gossip you know,” Zarad said. Hamin nodded.

 

“He is,” Hamin said. “I was two seats down from at dinner last night.”

 

“Gossip is idle and likely false in the best of circumstances,” Lyon said, reaching into his robes and pulling something out. “This shows you have already lied to me once, and so cannot be trusted to be honest in the future. Especially in regards to the same topic.”

 

‘This’ was an ointment of some sort. Hamin wasn’t familiar with it, and Zarad’s expression didn’t budge from the amused look he’d been wearing since the conversation started. It reminded him of Glitter’s friendly smile.

 

Blegh. He did not want to think of Glitter’s smiles as a mask.

 

“Well, aren’t you surprising,” Zarad said, taking the ointment and popping the lid. He gave it a sniff and then shook it. “Almost all gone, interesting.” Hamin took the chance to nab it from him – not failing to notice the way Zarad’s fingers tightened just for a moment.

 

Sneaky prince was sneaky.

 

Looking at it didn’t tell him much, but sniffing it reminded him of a few ointments he used regularly. “So the horse was wounded,” he said, “burr in the saddle?”

 

“Something like that,” Zarad said.

 

“There’s mint in it,” Lyon said. “Not a traditional additive to anti-infection agents.”

 

“Well we’re not in a traditional place, are we?” Zarad asked.

 

“Traditional enough,” Hamin said. “Come on – the tracks won’t follow themselves. Lyon, try not to step on _every_ stick you find.”

 

“I do not try and step on sticks ever,” Lyon said. “Forgive me, if I am unfamiliar with criminal enterprise and its requisite skill set.”

 

“Well since you asked,” Zarad said, keeping pace with Hamin.

 

“I’m a good teacher,” Hamin said as cheerfully as he could manage. “Between the two of us we’ll have you as sneaky as an burgler before the night is through.”

 

“Unlikely,” Lyon said.

 

“That sounds like a challenge, don’t you think Hamin?”

 

“I dare say it does, Zarad.”

 

“It is not,” Lyon said.

 

Hamin and Zarad shared a look which clearly said, _ignore him_.

 

“Well first,” Hamin said, “step heel to toe.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly going to be more shenanigany but it just didn't go that way. The resolution doesn't reveal where the horse is because the boys never find it - it just mysteriously is back where it belongs when the stables open the morning. Not quite what you were envisioning I expect, but I hope you like it all the same.


End file.
